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crept through his hand. It was comforting, and Chakotay responded. He could feel the muscles in his back and neck unknotting as if being manually untied by an unseen presence. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting it trickle through his nostrils. Peace enveloped him. He opened his eyes.

He was surprised at the sight that greeted him. Always before, his spirit guides had met him in the lustiness of a tropical rain forest or the cool comfort of a wooded glen. This, too, was a wild place, but as unlike the jungle or forest as could be imagined.

Chakotay stood in a desert.

The air was hot and he found it hard to breathe. Even as he blinked against the searing brightness of a cruel sun, a wind rose and bore the sand with it It scoured his body and he bent over, trying to shield his laces from the merciless grains. A high-pitched howl rose. It was the sound of the wind itself. Or was it?

Chakotay tried to breathe and got a mouthful of grit for his efforts. His body, sweating in a desperate attempt to cool itself, was caked with the stuff. He coughed, and for a frantic moment he wondered what would happen to his real body, the one sitting cross-legged in the cool, quiet safety of his quarters aboard Voyager, if bis mind thought he died here in the spirit realm. He'd never thought to ask Kolopak that particular nasty question, and fear swelled inside him.

"Oh, just cut that out," came an impatient voice.

Abruptly the howling wind stopped. The grains of sand fell back to earth, obeying the law of gravity

even here in Chakotay's mind. He gasped in air and wiped at his grit-encrusted eyes.

In front of him, sitting on its haunches, its mouth open as if it were laughing at him, sat a coyote.

This was not good. This was not good at all. Coyote was the Trickster. Chakotay yearned for his friend, the wise if occasionally infuriating snake, or some of the other animals who had come to him when he needed their aid. He'd never before encountered Coyote.

"Aw," said Coyote mockingly. It tilted its head to the side. "Not happy to see me?"

Its voice, Chakotay realized with a further sensation of dread, was that of Q.

"So right now you're wondering, is Q Coyote, or is Coyote Q, and just what the hell am I doing conjuring up either one of them at a time like this? Am I right?" Coyote flipped over and wriggled into the sand, all four paws in the air. "Oooh, that feels good. Care to try it?"

"No. Thank you," he added as an afterthought. It wouldn't do to offend Coyote. "But you are correct about one thing. I'm not certain why you're here. I'm in trouble. We all are. We need some help."

"I'm a coyote, not a doctor," snarled the creature. It sat up and busily shook out the sand from its fur. "Besides, I'm not even real. And you expect me to find a cure?"

The anger, the heavy, hot anger, was rising. Chakotay tried to fight it. "I wasn't asking for a cure, just for some help. I have my own burden to

hear, and I'd like some assistance in handling it."

"Goodness, what a great big crybaby you are," said Coyote. "Perhaps you'd be better off not suffering anymore."

And it launched itself at him.

All Chakotay had time to register was yellow eyes, yellow teeth, and fetid bream. Instinctively he thrust his arms up, and cried out in pain as Coyote's teem ravaged them. He struggled, but the beast seemed to grow in front of his eyes. Teeth snapped shut inches from his face, and the anger swelled and burst inside him. With a roar, Chakotay ceased defending himself and began to attack. His powerful hands reached out, closed on Coyote's thickly ruffed throat, and began to squeeze. The animal's tongue lolled, and its eyes rolled back into its skull. It went limp.

Still Chakotay pressed on, choking the creature until it was limp as a fur piece. Only then did he realize what he had done, the abomination, the sacrilege he had committed. He splayed his fingers and pulled them back from the